


Test

by IAmANonnieMouse



Series: Nash Fics for Flos [9]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Arthur doesnt like it when Eames is right, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Post-Canon, Which sucks because that happens all the time, smh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27435673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmANonnieMouse/pseuds/IAmANonnieMouse
Summary: Eventually, Arthur gets sick of letting Eames take charge and he flips them, giving Eames a few marks of his own. He sucks and licks and grabs until Eames is too breathless to tell Arthur how good they would all be together, how desperately Nash needs a guiding hand or four. By the time they collapse, hours later, onto their mess of a bed, the person in the next room over has been angrily banging on the wall for a while, and the front desk has phoned.“You’re a manipulative bastard,” Arthur says admiringly, still gasping for air. “I don’t know why the fuck I like you.”
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception), Arthur/Eames/Nash (Inception)
Series: Nash Fics for Flos [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1928443
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	Test

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flosculatory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flosculatory/gifts).



> The Arthur POV to [Try](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27392647), kind of a missing scenes thing, because, once again, I can never say no to flos.

It’s beautiful and elegant and _smart,_ and Arthur hates it.

“Darling,” Eames murmurs in his ear, “you’re grinding your teeth.”

Arthur grumbles and lets Eames wrap an arm around his waist. “It’s perfect,” he says sulkily. It really is. There are more paradoxical structures than Arthur could ever ask for, and it’s the perfect design to trap projections in multiple dead ends while they corral the mark on the opposite end of the building.

“And we’re mad about that because?” Eames asks.

Arthur sighs. “Nash made it.”

“And you’ve vowed to hate Nash for all eternity,” Eames says. “Right.”

“When you put it that way, it sounds so petty.”

Eames arches a brow at him. “Are you implying that it isn't?”

“He sold us out—”

“Saito _told_ you he sold you both out.”

Arthur sighs. They’ve had this discussion before. The most recent one was last night, when Eames asked if there was a particular reason Arthur was being marginally more dickish than usual. 

“Aw, darling,” Eames croons, and he pulls Arthur fully into his arms. “How can I wipe that frown off your face, hm?”

He hooks a finger under Arthur’s chin and drags him into a kiss that starts soft but quickly turns sharp. They fight each other for control, because they can’t help who they are. Arthur bites Eames’ lip hard enough to draw blood and uses the distraction to flip Eames around and pin him face-first against the nearest wall. 

“Stop being so distracting,” he hisses in Eames’ ear, letting his hips continue to move. “We’re fucking _working._ ”

Eames grins and slips out of Arthur’s hold, before turning to put his back against the wall and reel Arthur back in.

“We could take the word ‘work’ out of that equation,” he suggests, tugging Arthur’s hips just a little closer until Arthur’s breath catches in his throat.

“No.” Arthur nips at his throat. “No, we need to stop. For now.”

Eames lets out a dramatic sigh and lets Arthur pull away. “Very well, darling, if you insist. Let’s go find Nash and tell him what an architectural genius he is.”

And Arthur grumbles and curses and rants about stupid fucking carpets, but he doesn’t fight it when Eames takes his hand and leads him down the stairs in search of one annoyingly competent architect.

*

Eames is up to something, but Arthur can’t figure out what. He’s dipping around the warehouse, smiling at Nash, tugging at Arthur’s tie, and being an all-around nuisance. One afternoon he sidles up to Arthur and says, “Poor Nash is tearing his hair out over there, because he wants to build only the best for you. Go tell him he’s doing well, hm? Before he flops from exhaustion?”

And Arthur tells him to fuck off because he can’t tell Arthur what to do. And then two hours later, he’s peeking over Nash’s shoulder at his models and saying that they’re perfect the way they are.

The worst part is? They really _are._

Did Eames tell Nash he has a competency kink or something? What the fuck.

That night, Eames pins Arthur against a wall and sucks messy bruises onto his skin, whispering shit like, “You were so fucking sexy, telling Nash he did well, did you see how he reacted, darling? He fucking melted in your arms.”

Eventually, Arthur gets sick of letting Eames take charge and he flips them, giving Eames a few marks of his own. He sucks and licks and grabs until Eames is too breathless to tell Arthur how good they would all be together, how desperately Nash needs a guiding hand or four. By the time they collapse, hours later, onto their mess of a bed, the person in the next room over has been angrily banging on the wall for a while, and the front desk has phoned.

“You’re a manipulative bastard,” Arthur says admiringly, still gasping for air. “I don’t know why the fuck I like you.”

Eames hums and licks a line down Arthur’s skin, and Arthur rolls over for another round.

*

The job goes perfectly. It goes more than perfectly. It literally couldn’t have gone more smoothly than it did, and that makes Arthur _mad_ because it was all thanks to Nash, dammit, and Arthur’s vowed to hate Nash for all eternity.

He notices Eames pull Nash aside and hand him a card, and Arthur knows he should be mad that Eames is risking them like this, but he’s mostly eager to see what Nash does.

It’s Eames’ fault. He really is a manipulative bastard, but he’s so good in bed, Arthur can’t really complain.

But he still tells Eames he’s a dick when he gets the chance, and ignores the way Eames laughs and kisses behind Arthur’s ear and says, “I love you, too, darling.”

*

Weeks pass, then months, and Nash doesn’t call. Arthur tries not to take it personally, and completely fails.

He’s actually considering renewing his vow to hate the man for all eternity when their phone rings. Their real phone, their landline. Only three people have that number, and one of them is dead. 

Eames is closest, so he picks up and says, “What do you need?”

His face pales, and he turns to Arthur, but Arthur’s already in motion, packing a go bag and queuing up their contacts. 

“Where is he?” Arthur asks. “Tell him we’re coming for him.”

*

It’s not supposed to feel like this. At least, that’s what Arthur keeps telling himself. He’s not supposed to be possessively satisfied at the sight of Eames helping Nash out of his clothes and ruffling his chopped-off hair. He’s not supposed to cup the back of Nash’s throat and bury his own fingers in Nash’s hair and ask him if the water’s warm enough in the shower yet.

He’s not supposed to want to burn down the world for this man he once swore to hate, and he’s certainly not supposed to curl up next to Eames and whisper, “You’re right. We’ll wait.”

But that’s exactly what happens, and it doesn’t stop. 

He makes Nash breakfast, he watches Eames watch them both. He gives simple orders just to see if Nash will follow them, then pushes down the sharp _pride_ he feels when Nash obeys without question. He watches Eames dance in and out of Nash’s personal space, and watches Nash slot himself into their home, and yeah, it isn’t supposed to feel like this, but he doesn’t want to change a single fucking thing.

*

After it’s over — after Arthur comes home to Eames and Nash tangled together on the couch, and Nash closes his eyes and lets Arthur and Eames take charge — Eames asks Arthur what happened to make him late. Nash is sprawled between them, sweaty and trembling and limp, and Arthur can’t stop himself from running a hungrily possessive hand down his side.

“It snowed,” Arthur says, rolling his eyes. “And my phone had died, and I’d been an idiot and packed my charger in my luggage, not my carry on, because I thought, it’s a three hour flight, I won’t need it.”

Eames snorts. “And here I was, ready to commit mass murder on your behalf.”

“Well,” Arthur says, drawing out the word, “I’d never say no to that.”

Eames smiles and kisses Arthur lightly, trapping Nash between their bodies, and Arthur kisses back and says, “You’re a manipulative bastard, but even worse than that? You’re always right.”


End file.
